Backfire
by Seriously Sam
Summary: On November 2, 1983, a fire destroyed a family. John Winchester perished in the flames, and his wife moved her two sons to Ainsworth, Nebraska to train them how to protect themselves from the evils of the world.
1. Prologue: Forgotten

Title: Backfire

Summary: On November 2, 1983, a fire burst to life in the Winchester nursery. A life was lost and hunters were born. Except, in a twist of fate, Mary Winchester was the one to survive.

"_When I die choose a star  
>and name it after me<br>that you may know  
>I have not abandoned<br>or forgotten you."  
>"For my Daughter" by David Ignatow<em>

"**Backfire"**

"**Prologue: Forgotten"**

When John Winchester was little, he remembered his father possessing a bruised and battered soul. He had been in the Army, had traveled to Germany in World War II. He had come back wounded and beaten. This soul and heart had been so abused that he wallowed in grief and alcohol for the rest of his miserable life. His mom had to work two jobs just to keep the family afloat. John despised his father. How could a man let down his family in such a way?

John decided to skip the college scene. Wearing a suit and living his days in a cubicle were yawn worthy. John liked cars, loved them actually. He wanted to own his own repair shop one day. Except, with little family money and no real savings, John did not know how he would scrap the cash together. So, instead, he joined the Marines and marched into war. If there were two things that could be said about the Winchester family, it was that they lived and breathed war and cars.

Arriving home from Vietnam, John understood his father more fully. The sights and sounds of war were haunting. They could mess a person up for life. In fact, it had taken John years to overcome the horrors of war. Although, he told himself he was over it, he was only lying to himself. Unfortunately, by the time he understood all of that, his father was buried six feet under.

The only connection he had to his father was watching documentaries on war. His father would watch them late into the night until he fell asleep in that dingy old recliner. When John was feeling particularly upset about something, he would plant himself in front of the television and watch war documentaries.

On November 2, 1983, he was feeling particularly upset that night. Him and Mary had been fighting about money. It was a fight they had all too often. With Christmas coming up, money was even slimmer. Mary loved the holidays. She always wanted to splurge on gifts and decorations. With a new baby, it was seemingly impossible to carry out the lavish traditions.

John and Mary had a habit of screaming in each other's faces when they fought. They lashed out and spewed nasty, snide comments. When they were out of insults, they played the silent treatment. They avoided each other for all costs until the next day. Then, they put the sour feelings behind one other. They would apologize for the hurtful comments, push the issue at hand on the backburner. They would pretend like nothing had ever happened.

It was late at night, a little pass two in the morning when he woke up. John didn't know what had startled him awake, but he groaned in protest. His back was killing him from the old chair. Standing up, his back cracked loudly and he shut off the television. Slowly, he made his way upstairs.

The light at the top of the landing flickered. Reaching out a hand, he flicked the glass twice. The light grew solid. The door to his right was ajar slightly. Pushing it in slowly, he noted the sleeping form of his eldest son. Dean was curled onto his left side, a large teddy bear grasped in his arms. John had won him the bear at the Kansas State Fair the following summer by shooting milk bottles.

Satisfied that Dean was safe, he closed the door but let a crack of light seep into the room. He crossed the hall and peeked into Sam's room. His heart stopped beating and his breath hitched in his throat. A man was standing over Sam's crib. As though sensing John's presence, he turned around. Bright, yellow eyes shone through the dark room. They stood in silence, just staring at each other.

A bed creaked in the distance and the floorboards of the master bedroom squeaked. The stranger smirked and with a lazy wave of his hand, John flew across the nursery. He tried to keep quiet as his body smacked against the plaster. He did not want to catch Mary's attention. The man would kill her. Slowly, his body crept up the wall and then the ceiling. He kept going until he was directly over Sammy's crib.

Sam just stared up at him in mild interest. The door to the master bedroom squeaked open and John held his breath. _Not Mary. Not Mary. No Mary. _A white, searing pain ran across his abdomen. His eyes squeezed shut as he bit his tongue to keep from crying out.

Down the hallway, Mary sleepily wandered out of the master bedroom. Sammy's baby monitor had crackled and woken her from her slumber. Turning the corner, she walked into Sam's nursery. Her son was awake, his hands reaching towards the ceiling with a smile playing on his face. Mary took a step closer.

Sam let out a gurgling giggle as his hands waved at something above him. Mary twirled the mobile above his bed, but Sammy looked beyond it. Chuckling softly to herself, she bent over the crib and kissed the baby's forehead. Something dripped onto her head. Pulling back, she looked up as though half expecting the ceiling to be leaking. That would just be their luck – a leaky ceiling that would take hundreds if not thousands of dollars to repair.

Instead, Mary saw her husband's body pinned to the ceiling. His face was ghostly white and his USMC shirt saturated in crimson. She looked away, tears burning her eyes. Another drop of blood dripped down, hitting Sammy square in the forehead. Frantically, she looked around the room.

"Who's here?" Mary shouted, her knuckles gripping the crib. "Leave my family alone! I'm not a hunter anymore! Just stop!"

There was a whoosh of air. The room instantly became unbearably hot. Looking up, Mary watched as her husband burst into flames. The fire licked the ceiling, engulfing it completely. Sam started to cry. Reaching out, Mary grabbed her son from the crib and ran for the door.

Dean met her in the hallway, his eyes wide with fear and body shaking like a leaf. His gaze fell into his brother's room. The heat was radiating out in unbearable surges. Mary knelt down and planted Sam in his brother's arms.

"Dean, take Sammy and get outside as fast as you can!"

With a quick nod, Dean ran as fast as his little legs would carry him. Mary turned around and took a step into the nursery. There was no way she could save her husband, no way he could survive the fire. With tears pouring down her face, she bolted. Taking the stairs two at a time, she was out of the house in a flash.

Dean was standing outside, his arms tightly holding his brother and his eyes watching his childhood home burn to the ground. Mary screamed for Dean to run. As though electrocuted, the boy jumped into action and ran further away from the house.

Suddenly, the house burst into flames. Mary dove to the ground, her arms covering her head from flying debris. Peeking up, she noted Dean and Sammy were on the ground as well. Dean's body was covering his baby brother.

Crawling on her hands and knees, Mary stopped right next to her sons. Dean looked up at his mother, tears raining down his cheeks. A large, red gash graced his temple. Reaching out, she pulled Dean into her arms. Situating him to one side, she scooped up Sammy in her arms. She sat on the dewy grass, her boys in her arms, and wished for her father to be alive and hunt down the sonofabitch who killed John and put her boys in harms way.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the prologue. Please, leave a review and let me know if I should continue.


	2. Reasons for Moving

_"We all have reasons_

_for moving._

_I move_

_to keep things whole."_

_"Keeping Things Whole" by Mark Strand_

**"Backfire"**

**"Chapter One: Reasons for Moving"**

_Twenty years later_

_Ainsworth, Nebraska_

Dean Winchester hated Ainsworth, Nebraska more than he was ever willing to admit. There was only one town he hated more, and that was Lawrence, Kansas. In fact, Dean hated every single town that had ever existed. If he had his way, he would spend only a week tops in a town before moving onto the next. The concept of moving constantly appealed to Dean in ways that he could not comprehend.

There was something about being in the driver's seat, music pumping throughout the vehicle, the wheels beneath the asphalt of the flat highway that washed a sense of calm over him. Driving, moving, it all felt like home in ways that Ainsworth had never felt.

His mother moved him and his brother to Nebraska shortly after the fire that had claimed his father's life. She bought a ranch house in the small town and called it home. Sammy embraced the place, had gotten involved in every sport and club known to man while at school. He had a network of friends and attended a top-notch university. Meanwhile, Dean struggled. He refused to join in on school activities, ditched the idea of college, and no one had the honor of being claimed as a friend. Dean was a loner.

The fact of it was that Dean missed his father more than he could bear. Sometimes, the gaping feeling of loss was too much for him to take. It drove Dean to leave home for days at a time, just driving and looking for a job. The one thing that Dean wanted to do more than anything else in his life was to become a hunter.

One cold November night, he was standing in a cemetery at three o'clock in the morning with a box of matches and a can of kerosene by his feet. In one swift flick of the wrist, he lit a match and flicked it into the dug up grave. The decomposing body burst into flames. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, Dean took out a pack of cigarettes and popped one in his mouth. With another flick, he lit the end and threw that match into the fire as well.

He took a long jag of the cigarette as his cell phone vibrated in his leather jacket. He didn't have to answer to know that it was his mother calling him. She had been calling him all night, demanding to know where he was. He was twenty-four years old and still had to sneak out of the house.

Digging into his jacket pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and answered it. He didn't want to be the reason his mother died of a heart attack. Even though his mom was a pain in his ass, he still loved her to death despite her overbearing and overprotective tendencies.

"I'm _fine_, Mom. It was a routine salt 'n burn."

_"It's Sam. Mom called me at one in the morning saying you were gone. We've both been calling you for the past two hours."_

"I was doing a job," Dean said with a sigh. "How's Stanford?"

_"You know how Mom feels about this. Why can't you just get a job, meet a pretty girl, and give Mom the grandkids she wants?"_

Ever since Dean turned eighteen, there had been an ongoing battle between him and his mother. He knew all about hunting, about the nightmare things that crept in the dark corners of the earth, and he wanted to hunt them. The fighting got so bad that Dean moved out and took a great American road trip all over the West Coast for half a year. He'd call every night to talk to his kid brother.

Then, one day, his mom got the jump on him in Oregon, begged him to come home to Nebraska. She used Sam as leverage, said he was so depressed without his big brother. Dean caved and went home. He continued to research hunting, went on jobs that were close by. A few times, he'd disappear for days at a time to go on a hunt farther away.

"Dude, I have the job I want. Call Mom and tell her I'm on my way home, so she can stop her worrying."

Dean ended the call abruptly. He finished his cigarette before tossing it into the grave fire. When he was sure the bones were completely torched, he picked up his shovel and started to put the dirt back into the grave.

There was a rustling to his right. Dean stopped what he was doing and stayed completely still. Carefully, he reached a hand behind him and grasped the gun that was situated between his lower back and jeans. In a swift movement, he clicked off the safety as he glanced around.

"Dammit!" a female voice rang behind him.

Whipping around, Dean pointed his gun at a pretty blonde girl who couldn't have looked older than a teenager. A shotgun and shovel was in her right hand and in her left was a jug of what looked like kerosene. Upon seeing the gun pointed at her, she gasped.

"Don't!" she yelled. "I was just gonna do what you did!"

Dean lowered the gun and narrowed his eyes at the girl. Her skin was a ghastly white. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. A leather jacket hugged her thin frame.

"You're a hunter?" asked Dean. "You look more like a wannabe badass Barbie."

"Hey! Listen, asshole, girls can be hunters too."

"I'm not saying girls can't get the job done."

Dean situated the gun back where it had been. Turning around, he started to shovel the dirt again. Suddenly, the girl was next to him and watched as the dirt extinguished the flames.

"Do you mind?" questioned Dean.

"Look, Ken, this was supposed to be my first solo gig and you kind of ruined it. So I'm at least going to enjoy the end of the salt and burn."

Glancing at her sideways, he watched as she defiantly crossed her arms over her chest and stared intently down at the fiery grave.

"First solo gig, huh? What are you? Fourteen?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm eighteen. I can take care of myself."

Shaking his head, Dean finished shoveling the dirt into the grave while Barbie stood beside him and watched the hard work. After the last pile of dirt was placed in the grave, Dean wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead and turned towards the girl.

"Well, I'm really glad we went on this hunt together. It was fabulous." Dean smirked. "I hope we never hunt together again."

Picking up his empty kerosene can, Dean made his way to his Impala without looking back at the girl. She said nothing, which Dean took as a good sign. Opening the trunk, Dean threw his supplies in before heading back to his mom's house.

When he arrived, she was waiting for him. She sat on the living room couch with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked pissed, but then she always did whenever he went out hunting. Dean never understood it. She was the one who told them about monsters, the one who taught them how to shoot a gun and signed them up for karate. She was the one who told them how to kill every single supernatural thing she could think of. Hell, when Dean was sixteen, she took him on a spook hunt to show him how it was done.

"Where were you?" asked Mary.

"You know where I was," replied Dean as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Why do you have to do this? Why can't you just be more like Sam?"

"Sorry I'm such a colossal disappointment," snapped Dean. "For the record, you're the one who told me stories about hunting. Can't help it that it enchanted me."

Mary stood up, her facial features softening at the words. Crossing the room, she laid a gentle hand on her son's shoulder. He refused to look at her. Instead, he took interest in the shoelaces on his boots.

"I don't want this life for you, Dean."

He had heard those words more than he could count. His mother had grown up in the hunting world – her father completely obsessed with it. She hated it, felt like she had no escape. When she met John Winchester, she thought it was the end. She thought that the apple pie lifestyle would arrive and life would be roses. Except, it had all ended when a demon killed his father.

His mother taught them the basic survival skills. She taught them how to kill each and every one of the supernatural bastards she knew of. She wanted them to be able to defend themselves in case they found themselves face-to-face with a creature. She took them on a few hunts when they were old enough, just to give them a practical of sorts. Sam had been satisfied with his training, felt confident that he would be able to protect himself if need be. Dean, however, craved more. He wanted to hunt down every sick creature that existed. He wanted to find the demon that killed his dad and murder it himself.

"I want to be a hunter. Knowing all of the nightmare things out there… knowing that so many innocent people are dying… I can't _not_ be a hunter. It's in my blood, Mom, I just wish you would accept that."

"I just want a better life for you."

"I think it's time that I move out."

"And go where, Dean?"

He shrugged his shoulders. He would pack up his stuff, shove it in the back of his father's beloved Impala, and hit the road. There were supernatural creatures all over America. He'd travel from town to town and waste each and every one of those sonofabitches. Maybe he'd take a trip to Palo Alto to visit Sam, killing monsters on the way. Then maybe double back to Nebraska to see his mom for a little before moving out. He just wanted to keep moving, wanted to get the hell out of Ainsworth.

Dean sidestepped his mother and made his way upstairs to his bedroom. The walls were covered with poster of 80's rock bands. A large, vintage _Attack of the Crab Monsters _was tacked to the wall above his bed. An old duffle bag was shoved in the corner of his closet. Pulling it out, Dean started to pile in pieces of clothing.

His mother stood in the doorway, her side propped up against its frame. A frown was etched across her face as she watched her eldest pack his bags in fervor. Dean was always the troublemaker, the one who couldn't sit still for long periods of time. He broke all the rules growing up and never liked the word simple. Mary always attributed the behavior to the loss of his father. A boy so young losing a man he was so close to… it was obviously detrimental.

"Dean, will you please just stop?"

Faltering in his packing, Dean turned around to look at his mother. He hated to do this to her, hated to leave her all by herself in Nebraska. There was no way he could stay. There was an aching in his heart, a longing to hunt things and save people. He wanted to hone his skills; so when he finally found the demon that killed his dad, he could off him swiftly.

"I gotta do this," was all he could manage to say.

Grabbing the straps to his duffle bag, Dean ambled across the room until the space between him and his mother was nonexistent. He carefully laid a kiss on her right cheek. Without another word, Dean disappeared around the corner and down the staircase.

To Dean, hunting was a panacea. It was the only thing that seemed to make sense in his life. It was the only thing that filled a void he felt deep within his being. It eased the insufferable pain of losing his father. Every time he saved someone from an untimely fate, he felt like he had made his father proud. He had spared a family the agony he felt every single day of his life.

Dean drove straight through the night. He crossed into Wyoming with Echo and the Bunnymen pumping through the speakers. He watched the sun rise in a whirl of oranges. He didn't stop until he saw the exit for Casper, Wyoming. Locals were being clawed to death, and Dean had no doubt it was a werewolf doing them in. The prospect of hunting a werewolf was more than a little exciting. It was his first one in his twenty-four years of life.

There was a diner off the interstate. Small diners like that always had the best greasy food and great coffee. Dean decided to stop and grab a bite to eat before heading to the motel and getting some shuteye. He would have a long night of hunting ahead of him.

Taking the nearest booth, Dean flipped lazily through the menu. He knew what he wanted – the greasiest burger on the menu, a large order of fries, and a steaming hot cup of caffeine. A tall, leggy woman was standing over him with a pad and pen in hand. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She had on black booty shorts with a white apron tied around her waist. A green, crewneck t-shirt with the diners logo clung to her waist. Pinned across her left breast was a nametag that read _Alyson_.

"What can I get you today?"

"I could think of a few things that aren't on the menu," he said with a smirk.

"What can I get you that's available on the menu?"

"Uh, how about your triple cheeseburger delight meal and a coffee."

Dean extended the menu to the waitress. She took it and rolled her eyes at her customer before leaving to put in the order. Leaning back in his chair, Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a tan leather-bound journal. Flipping to the back of the journal, he quickly read over the werewolf section to freshen up his knowledge base.

The only thing left to do was to look up the lunar cycle. If it failed to match up, Dean knew he was dealing with some sort of shifter. Therefore, he also read the section he had on shape shifters. He wanted to be prepared as much as possible, wanted to go in and do a good job with no mishaps. It was how their mom had always taught them – if you aren't prepared, don't bother hunting until you are or else you'll just get yourself killed.

The attacks all happened on the same block. There were about seven apartment buildings on that block. Each one of the victims had been a resident to one of the complexes. That lead Dean to believe that the attacker also lived in one of the buildings – a little werewolf shifting and killing neighbors as they let out their dogs late at night.

That night, Dean sat in the Impala on the block. Dean nursed a cup of caffeine as he looked up and down the block. Everything seemed normal except for the 1971 Chevelle that was parked two apartment buildings down. The old car looked just as out of place as the Impala did in the neighborhood. Instantly, Dean knew there was another player in the hunt.

If there was one thing his mom always said about other hunters, it was don't trust them with a ten-foot poll. Hunters are usually born out of great tragedy. They watch a loved one die due to something unexplainable. They dig up information, stumble upon the hunting world, and dive in feet first. Hunters usually become unhinged, unstable after all of the shit they see on a regular basis. They start to lose their humanity, lose socially acceptable behavior. They wouldn't hesitate to use you as bait just to slaughter an evil monster.

Dean didn't know if his mother just had a bad experience with a hunter or if she just didn't like them because she hated hunting as a whole. Either way, Dean became cautious whenever he crossed paths with another hunter. In fact, a year ago, he was two towns over from Ainsworth hunting a vampire when he caught wind of another hunter going after the same thing. He quickly bowed out and left the scene before they could cross paths.

The only hunter he never viewed as a threat was the pretty blonde from a few days previous. She looked new to the scene. She didn't look like she had seen a lot of nasty shit that would have damaged her beyond repair.

The driver's side to the Chevelle opened. A silhouette of a man stepped out and meandered towards the Impala. Dean reached for his gun that was situated next to him. Slowly, he hid the gun in his jacket, his thumb flipping off the safety. He'd be the one to shoot first.

The guy stepped underneath a streetlamp. He was an older man with gray hairs peeking through and a straggly beard. A trucker's hat graced his head and ratty clothes graced his body. He looked like a hunter who had been through a lot of shit – the kind of hunter his mother warned him about.

He stopped short of the driver's side window, his hands clenching the space where the window had disappeared into the door. Dean stayed still, his palm tightening around his gun and his eyes never leaving the stranger.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked.

"Had a fight with my girlfriend," Dean replied with a tight smirk. "Kicked me out of the apartment. Just waiting for her to cool down before I go back in."

"Are you going to be a problem?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I don't work well with other hunters," he said dryly. "You look like you're sixteen and looking for a cock fight."

Dean swallowed, the shit-eating smirk never leaving his face. He sized up the hunter. The guy definitely had more mass to him but also had a good thirty years on him, so Dean felt confident he could take the guy if need be.

"Look, I don't want any trouble. I'm just here to kill the sonofabitch that's doing some murdering around here."

"You got a name, kid?"

"Eduardo," he responded but did not loosen his grip on his gun.

"Listen, _Eduardo_, I don't want no trouble either. So, why don't you put the gun down and we talk about how we're going to finish this job."

Dean slid the gun out from under his jacket and placed it on the seat next to him. He kept the safety off just in case he needed quick access to the gun.

"What? I tell you my name, but you're too good to tell me your name, huh, chuckles?"

"I'll tell you my name when you give me your real name, smartass."

"John," said Dean and technically wasn't lying because it was his middle name.

"Bobby."

Dean nodded, his eyes scanning around the apartment buildings looking for anything out of the ordinary. He didn't particularly want to work with another hunter, but he didn't want to give up the hunting gig either. His mother's warnings about hunters rang in his head, but he pushed them aside.

Reaching for his gun, he flicked the safety on and climbed out of the Impala. Slipping the gun between his back and jean waistband, he extended his hand to the fellow hunter. They shook briefly before leaning up against the Impala.

"I'm thinking it's a witch," Bobby said in low tones.

"I was thinking were," commented Dean.

"Yeah, well, I thought a werewolf too a couple days ago until I did a little research and found these attacks happen in all different areas of Wyoming at all times of the month. It's like the thing is afraid of getting caught, so it moves from town to town."

"Why would a witch go all Cujo on its new neighbors?"

"Beats the hell outta me."

"Figure out who the belle of the ball is yet?"

"Assuming the witch lives in one of these apartment complexes… I got it narrowed down to six possibilities. Six new tenants moved in on the block in the past two months. Luckily it's off season for rental move-ins."

"Maybe we should go play the lottery with this lucky streak."

"We can split up the list. You know what to look for?"

Dean smirked, his hands working their way into the pockets of his leather jacket. The guy thought he was a rookie. Dean supposed he should take that as a compliment.

"Yeah, Mr. Cynical, I know what to look for. Can I have the chicks?"

The first apartment was a bust. It was an elderly lady who had ceramic cats scattered across every shelf and table. She was lonely and seemed fit to show Dean a photo album of all the cats she ever owned in her life. She had a long list of names and never-ending pictures. He stayed for about fifteen minutes partly because he felt bad for the lady and partly just to double check she wasn't the witch they were hunting for.

The second girl was young, probably around twenty or twenty-one. She had on a too tight Casper College T-shirt and booty shorts on. Dean couldn't help but smirk at the girl, his eyes trailing down her body.

"Can I help you?" she inquired.

"I live directly below you. In my kitchen, there's a huge water spot on the ceiling. I'm thinking your toilet or something is springing a leak. I was wondering if we could double check and tighten the valve before you can look down and wave at me."

She stepped aside and allowed him entrance into her apartment. It looked like a typical college girl apartment – lots of bright colors and hand-me-down furniture from relatives most likely. There was an array of candles scattered throughout the apartment. Different scents wafted through his nostrils as he walked towards what he hoped was the bathroom.

"Name's John," Dean introduced himself.

"Savannah."

Turning the corner, Dean found the bathroom. Walking in, he crouched beside the toilet and pretended to inspect the area. Even if this chick wasn't the witch he was looking for, he wouldn't mind staying a little longer and get to know her. She had a nice body.

"I'm not seeing any damage on your end. Must a pipe in the floor that's leaking."

"That sounds like more work."

"Hey, do you happen to have the phone number of maintenance. I can't seem to find it. I'll give them a call right now, maybe get someone in here bright and early tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah, I should have it. I just moved in a month ago, so it should be right on top on my desk."

Dean followed Savannah into the living room where her desk was situated in the corner of the room. She bent over looking at a pile of papers. Dean admired the view for a few seconds before scanning the apartment for any paraphernalia that would indicate she was the culprit.

Savannah turned around, and instantly Dean noticed a necklace he did not take notice of before. Perhaps, when she bent over, it escaped from underneath her shirt. It was a silver chain with a pentacle hanging from it. Dean knew it wasn't the smoking gun, but it definitely put her through to the next round.

"That's an interesting necklace. What is it?"

"Oh, um, it's just a necklace my mom gave me. It's supposed to protect you. Silly, I know, but got to love your mom."

"Yeah, I get ya. My mom has a bracelet like that. Weird little charms like that star with the circle around it. Never understood what it meant.'

Savannah struggled her shoulders and held out the piece of paper with the phone number on it. Dean took it with a smile, his eyes glancing down at the necklace once more.

"Where are you from?"

"Rawlins, Wyoming. You?"

"Lawrence, Kansas."

"There's no place like home," she said with a smile and clicked her heels together."

"That is too true."

Politely, Dean excused himself and thanked her for her help. Dean took the last name on his list and investigated. It was a single mom who seemed to have too much on her plate to worry about. No way was she dabbling in witchcraft on the side. Dean waited by the Impala, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets as he waited for Bobby to return.

"Find anything, kid?" he asked ten minutes later.

"Number dos. Chick named Savannah who wears a pentacle around her neck, has a thing for candles, and is probably good in bed." Dean cleared his throat, his eyes shifting around the area. "Any of these attacks take place in Rawlins? Perhaps, the first attack?"

"Rawlins sounds familiar, definitely one of the attack sights. I'll have to double-check my list to see if it was number one. Why?"

"Savannah is from Rawlins. Maybe we can link it back to her."

"Good work, kid. Let's call it a night here and dig up some research on Savannah. See if she's our target."

Dean nodded while the two exchanged phone numbers. Then, he hauled his frame into the Impala. He watched Bobby get back in his car and drive away. Dean, meanwhile, stayed where he was. If there was an attack tonight, he was going to stop it.

The night was uneventful. Slowly, but surely, at four in the morning, Dean had dosed off to sleep. It wasn't the rising sun peeking through the window that woke him up the next morning. In fact, when he woke up, the sun was just starting to creep up. It was his cell phone ringing, and Dean was sure that it was his mother checking up on him. It wasn't like him not to call when he was gone. In fact, whenever him and Sammy were not home, they always called at night just to say hello.

"Hey," Dean answered sleepily.

_"Hey, John, you sleepin' on the job?"_ an unfamiliar voice rang in his ear.

"Listen, buddy, I think you got the wrong number."

_"It's Bobby from last night."_

The name clicked in his hazy, half-sleeping mind. Adjusting himself on the bench seat, his back cracked loudly as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.

"What's up, Bobby? You find anything on Savannah?"

_"Savannah Petrie born in Rawlins, Wyoming. At the age of seventeen, moved out of her hometown and ended up in Cheyenne. Moved around a couple times a year, doing odd jobs to pay rent until last month when she set up roots in Casper. She's enrolled into Casper's Community College next semester."_

"Rawlins, Cheyenne, and every other town she lived in… people get buried six feet under?"

_"Yep, there are at least two deaths in each town she lived in. She looks like our witch."_

Dean watched Savannah Petrie exit her apartment building with a tote slung over her shoulder and wondered what she was doing up so goddamn early. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked innocent. There was no menacing aura around her that said she liked to kill people.

"Why do it though? Why kill people in every town she moves to and disguise it as an animal attack?"

_"Listen, kid, I know you're new to the game, but trust me, it's better if you don't ask. Just go with it. Sometimes, you don't wanna know how fucked up people or these creatures are. It's better just to do the job and forget about it."_

"Yeah, I guess. I see Bewitched right now. I'll trail her. See if she's going to kill anyone."

Dean snapped his phone shut and turned over the engine to his beloved Impala. He watched Savannah get into a PT Cruiser and pull out onto the street. Dean was not far behind her. Nothing out of the ordinary ensued. In fact, the chick got coffee, went to the gym, and then browsed books at a local bookstore. If she was an evil witch, Dean was not seeing it.

Dean's cell phone rang while he was sitting outside of the bookstore. Looking down at the Caller ID, he recognized his mother's phone number. He debated on picking up the phone but decided to ignore the call. He would call her later when he wasn't tailing a potential witch who likes killing her new neighbors. He needed his game face on and didn't have time to argue with his mother.

After the bookstore, Savannah made the journey home. Sleep itched his eyes, and Dean knew that he couldn't stay up for much longer. Therefore, he bit the bullet and went back to his motel room for a few hours of shuteye.

When he woke back up, it was noon. Dean's stomach was growling something awful. He'd hit a diner, call Bobby when he was done to group together their Intel, then go have a nice chat with Miss Witch.

Dean's mind wandered to fellow hunters. Maybe his mother was wrong about hunters. Bobby seemed like a good enough guy, wasn't using him as bait and was actually trying to work with him instead of just bitching him out for intruding on his hunt. Part of him just thought his mom was trying to scare him out of hunting by making other hunters seem crazy and unhinged. The thoughts of his mother made him realize that she had called earlier and even left a voicemail.

_"Dean, listen to me very carefully, do _not_ come back to Ainsworth,"_ his mother whispered frantically. _"I'm leaving town. Dean, it's coming. Stay safe. I'll call y-"_

There was a scream and the connection died. Dean stood frozen, his hand clenching his cell phone, which was only beeping in his ear. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. After a few minutes of listening to the dial tone, Dean hung up. Quickly, he called his mother back but there was no answer. He hung up and tried again only to be forwarded to voicemail.

His mouth went dry as his mind went a mile a minute. He shouldn't have left. He should have been home to help his mom. Feeling numb, he dialed his little brother's number. Sam would want to know what happened. He needed to come home. They had to find their mom. They had a job to do.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the new chapter. Please leave a review before you leave. :) It motivates me to write faster.


	3. Crooked Smile

"_Mystic palm, gem, and tarot_

_A few escape your magic arrow_

_I saw you reel them in for miles_

_Each captivated crooked smile"_

_- "Magic Arrow" by Timber Timbre_

"**Backfire"**

"**Chapter Two: Crooked Smile"**

After the chilling voicemail left by his mother, Dean was in the Impala and speeding down the highway. He would not stop, would not slow down until he got to his mother's house. His heart ached painfully in his chest, eyes prickling with a hated foreign substance. It would be his fault if his mother were gone. He was the one who left her unprotected.

The car ride to Ainsworth, Nebraska had never felt longer. The road seemed to drag on forever with no signs of an end. When he finally saw the "Welcome to Nebraska" sign, Dean's knuckles were pure white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. It seemed like the ride was three times as long when he pulled into the driveway of his childhood home.

The front door was unlocked, which was the first sign that something dreadful had happened. His mother was anal about keeping all doors and windows locked at all times. The second clue that something had happened was the floorboards were ripped up just in front of the door. His mother had placed bags of salt underneath the floorboards to ensure a demon could not cross. The third sign was the lines of sulfur that covered nearly every inch of the house. It only made Dean think that multiple demons had come.

Demons had gotten into the home – that much was clear. They had obviously kidnapped, killed, or possessed his mother. Each of the outcomes did not contain a happy ending. The reason of why was still unclear. Sure, a demon had killed his father, but why come back for their mother? She was a passive hunter – if even that. She went on maybe five hunts tops a year, and that was merely to keep her skills sharp. When she did go on hunts, they were mostly salt and burns with a werewolf or vampire thrown in for a change of pace. She had never dabbled in demon hunter, because there was no way to kill a demon. All a hunter could do was piss it off and send it packing back to hell. Sooner or later, it'd crawl out of the pit and seek revenge. His mom said she'd only go on a demon hunt if she knew how to kill the sonofabitch.

Dean's phone rang. The sound vibrated in the empty house. Digging it out of his pocket, he barked "What?" into the receiver harsher than he intended to.

_"Where the hell are you, boy?"_

It took Dean a few minutes to realize who the man on the phone was and what he was talking about. Upon hearing his mother's voicemail, nothing else mattered. He forgot about the hunt and the people dying. Honestly, it didn't compare to what was happening to his mother.

"I'm in Nebraska," he replied.

_"You're where? What the devil possessed you to up and leave a hunt? There are people dyin' here!"_

"I don't got to explain shit to you," snapped Dean.

_"The only reason I can see a hunter leaving in the middle of a hunt is because of family. If you're in Nebraska, there are people who can help. There's a bar in Dunning called the Roadhouse. There's a lot of good hunters there who can help ya out if you need it, son."_

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I'm sure as hell not your _son_, and I don't need your advice."

Dean snapped his phone shut and ran a weary hand over his face. He had a good twelve hours to do research on his own before Sam would arrive. He couldn't catch an earlier flight out for one reason or another. Maybe it was the first flight out – that's what chose to believe.

The bar in Dunning seemed appealing to say the least. Even though his mother's warnings rang in his head, he needed help. Maybe one of the hunter's could tell him how to kill a demon or at least track it. Another appealing reason to go to Dunning was the fact that he did not want to spend the night alone. He couldn't go to his mother's house and spend the night. A room in some seedy motel would just drive him up the wall. Driving an hour for a bar seemed like something that could keep him from crawling the walls. He needed to wait for Sam. If he didn't, he knew he'd do something stupid and risk never finding his mother.

Dunning was a little over an hour south of Ainsworth. When he entered into the town, the welcome sign said that the population was just over a hundred. Continuing south, in the boondocks of Dunning, was a bar that stuck out like a sore thumb. Cars were parked everywhere and music wafted outside. Dean's mouth went dry, and he suddenly doubted his decision.

Upon entering the bar, Dean immediately noted the bar was packed with gruff hunters. The clanking of beer bottles and voices booming about their latest hunts could be heard over the jukebox in the corner of the room. Dean scanned bar, his eyes landing on a pretty blonde bartending. Narrowing his eyes, he immediately recognized her.

Ambling towards the bar, he kept his eyes glued on her. She had on a tight white T-shirt and jeans. Her midriff was showing just above her apron. Several beer bottles dangled between her fingertips as she cleared the bar. She looked beyond bored, her eyes glancing up and ears twitching at several tidbits of the stories wafting through the air.

"Barbie," Dean greeted as he leaned his upper body onto the bar.

She whipped around, her blonde ponytail bouncing. Her unusually pale face drained of what little color she had. Her chocolate eyes glanced from him to an older brunette woman talking to a booth of hunters. A faint smile graced her features but disappeared just as quickly as it came.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked in a hushed whisper as she hastily dropped the empty bottles into a trashcan under the bar.

"Looking for a beer," he replied with a shit-eating grin. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I work here. My mother owns this bar," she hissed. "Listen, if she asks, you're an old high school friend. I never went on that spook hunt. Got it?"

Dean glanced over at the mother whose attention was now focused on them. She looked suspicious as she nodded her head to whatever the hunter was saying to her. Dean definitely wished he had never drove to Dunning. Turning his attention back to the blonde, he forced a tight smile.

"Well, then, I should probably stop callin' you Barbie."

"Name's Jo."

"Dean."

As soon as they got the familiarities out of the way, the mother walked over to Jo and Dean. She stood next to her daughter behind the bar, a stern look crossing her face. She stood tall and crossed her arms across her chest. Dean glanced nervously at Jo.

"Who might you be?" she asked.

"We went to high school together," Jo said in a rush. "Old friend, Mom, you know how it is."

She glanced at her daughter with an eyebrow arched gracefully. The look she gave clearly read _shut up, Jo._ Then, she turned her attention back to Dean.

"What are you really doing in this bar and with my daughter?"

"I'm a hunter," replied Dean as Jo rolled her eyes. So much for being in cahoots. "I heard through the grapevine that you might have some information for me."

"What grapevine is that?"

Dean did not have to turn around to know that some of the bar patrons were staring at the interaction. The chatter grew softer and Dean felt a prickling sensation on his neck.

"Can we talk somewhere in private?"

The woman motioned for him to follow her outside. They went around to the side of the building. Dean stuffed his hands into his leather jacket pockets and officially realized this was his worst idea in a while. Under any normal circumstance, he never in a million years would have thought about asking another hunter for help. Except, this was his mom. He needed to get the demon out of her or kill the demons that took her. He needed to get her back. He had already lost his dad to a fire and lost his kid brother to college. He could not lose his mother as well.

"Who sent you here?"

"Bobby."

"Bobby who?"

"Old, bearded, trucker hat Bobby. I don't know his last name, lady."

The woman uncrossed her arms, but the stern look failed to leave her face. Dean felt the urge to look away from her. Her expression reminded Dean of his mother whenever he went off on a hunt. His mother would get a pissy look on her face, and Dean usually ignored it. Hunting was what he wanted to do. For the first time in his life, he was mad that he went hunting instead of staying at home.

"Any friend of Bobby's is a friend of mine," she spoke in a gentle tone. "Stay away from my daughter though."

"Trust me, I don't mess with hunter's daughters. They own guns."

"What do you need help with, honey? You must have come in for a reason."

Dean nodded his head, because he didn't know what else to do. He decided against asking the hunter for help. It was a family matter. Sam would know what to do. He was the smart one in the family, Mister AP Classes and Valedictorian.

"You know what, nevermind. I got it covered," he replied.

was no point in spilling his sob story just yet. He'd have Sammy in less than twelve hours. His brother would help him figure everything out. He didn't need some psycho hunters. He would just rely on some psycho hunters' company. That wasn't crazy or anything.

At the end of the bar, Dean nursed a glass of scotch. By the time last call was called, he was on his third glass. Nobody had talked to him the whole night. The other hunters stayed their distance. Jo's mother, Ellen, had come over a few times to see how he was doing. Jo stayed her distance mostly, although she supplied him his alcohol. In fact, the first one was on the house. If Dean weren't so upset about his mother's disappearance, he would have tried to sleep with her.

Most hunters had left the bar. There were a couple hunters in a corner booth who were still talking to Ellen. Jo walked up to Dean and leaned across the bar. It took everything Dean had in him not to look down her shirt. Instead, he focused on her pale nose and dark eyes.

"You seem real cheery tonight," she commented.

"I just enjoyed watching you do something," he replied with a soft smirk. "Last time I saw you, you made me do all the hard work. Nice to see you actually _do_ contribute. Even if you do get paid for it."

A smile crossed her features, a soft chuckle escaped her ruby lips. It disappeared as quickly as it came. A scowl twisted its way onto her features instead.

"We're not to talk about that," she said in a playful whisper. "My mom hates that I want to be a hunter."

"Why?"

"Um… my dad's why."

Dean licked his lips and looked down at the remnants of his scotch. Swirling his glass, he absentmindedly watched the coppery liquid slosh from side to side. He didn't mind the young blonde's company. Hell, even if he never got any sex out of her, he wouldn't mind calling her from time to time to chat. There was something about her that Dean couldn't quite put his finger on. Whatever it was, he kind of liked it.

"I won't judge," he decided to say. Making the Boy Scout's three-finger salute, he added, "I've been told I'm a _great_ listener."

"You were a Boy Scout?"

"Boy Scout? Fuck no. My little brother was, so I can do their salute through association."

Jo laughed, her head shaking. Dean smiled too, a weight lifting off his shoulders.

"I don't think it works that way."

"Shut up. Tell me about why your mom hates you hunting when she runs a bar for hunters."

"He died when I was sixteen. He took me on my first hunt – a spook a few towns over. The body was buried in the basement of the house that was haunted. Some sick fuck killed wife, and she liked to kill the husbands that moved into the house."

Dean glanced up at Jo. She wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixated on something beyond him. Her voice had become monotone, a frown etched into her forehead.

"My dad dug up the body, and I was supposed to watch his six. Shoot the bitch if she came near him. I got her good a few times full of rock salt. My dad had her bones exposed, just needed to get the damn match lit and thrown in. She came back… that's when my shotgun jammed. She pushed me aside and went straight for my dad. I remember hearing his neck snap and his body thump lifelessly on the floor. The bitch was gone. I scrambled and burned her fuckin' bones."

Jo's bottom lip found its way between her teeth. Tears burned the brims of her eyes, but she wouldn't allow a tear to drop. Instead, she cleared her throat and kept staring at whatever she was staring at.

"I tried everything I could to save him, but he was dead the moment the spook got the drop on him."

"It's not your fault, you know," commented Dean.

For the first time since she started the story, her gaze snapped towards him. A sneer worked its way on her face that clearly read _I've heard that a million times you jackass_.

"A demon killed my dad," he changed the topic. "I was four."

"What happened?"

Dean inhaled a long breath as his eyes looked down at his scotch once more. His fingers tightened around the glass as he remembered his father. His dad was the best man he ever knew. He couched his little league team, threw around the old pigskin every Saturday morning since he could remember, took him to car shows and baseball games, took him to work and showed him all the parts of a car, always read him a bedtime story at night. Then in a flash, he was just gone.

His dad was his best friend. His dad would do everything he could with his son. Whenever he had to work late and missed a bedtime story, he would wake Dean up in the morning before he went to work to read him a book. He was the best dad. Nothing ever felt right since he died. It felt like there was a hole in Dean's soul where his father once occupied.

"Demon entered the house and killed my dad. Started a fire. My mom gave my baby brother to me, told me to get him out of the house. My mom barely got out before the whole place exploded. A piece of glass nicked me real good in forehead. I still got a scar."

Dean pointed to where his forehead met his hairline. There was a long, thin white scar parallel to his hairline. He didn't even remember the glass puncturing his head. He remembered the blood though. It was all over his mother's nightgown as she held him close.

"How do you know it was a demon?"

"My mom grew up a hunter."

At the mention of his mother, Dean's heart twisted. He already lost his dad. He couldn't lose his mother as well. Dean drained the rest of his scotch in one large gulp. Setting the glass down with a clank on the bar, Dean looked up at Jo.

"Does she hate you being a hunter?"

"Listen, Barbie, I'm done sharing. This conversation only got as far as it did, because scotch is my weakness."

"Why don't you have another glass on the house then?" she suggested with a wide smile with her pearly whites blinding him.

"Nah, I can't have a hangover tomorrow."

The bell to the front door rang. The final two hunters left the bar. Ellen locked the door before taking a seat next to Dean. She gave him a once over, no doubt evaluating whether or not she was going to allow him to drive.

"How many of those did you have?"

"Three," Jo supplied.

"If you don't feel good enough to drive, you can stay here for a few more hours. I don't want your mangled car and your dead body on my conscious."

"I'll sleep it off in my car," said Dean.

Standing up, Dean reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He rummaged through for a twenty and threw it down on the counter. With a nod at each lady, he ambled out of the bar and made his way towards his car.

He didn't notice any other cars in the parking lot, so he wasn't really paying attention to his surroundings. He didn't even see the guy lurking in the shadows behind him, wasn't really listening for footfalls behind him. The guy got the drop on him quickly, a cheap shot to the back of the head with something hard and metal.

Dean found himself on his knees in the dirt parking lot. His hand reached behind him to run through his hair. Sticky blood covered his hands as the pounding headache started throbbing. Two pairs of strong arms hoisted him up and held him tight. Dean struggled against the two beefy arms but found his efforts fruitless.

Some big shot stepped in front of him. The kid was muscular – looked like an old jock with his too small T-shirt. He reeled a right hook at his face. An irony-tang filled Dean's mouth. Gathering the blood up in his mouth, he spit it out right on Beef Head's nice white shirt.

"Sorry, I had a little blood in my mouth. Didn't see ya there," commented Dean with a smirk.

"Stay away from my girlfriend," Beef Head barked out as his fist plastered against Dean's other cheek.

His whole jaw throbbed, and a tooth wiggled dangerously in his mouth. With a little help from his tongue, he dislodged the tooth and spit it onto the dirt pavement. Luckily it was a side tooth, so he wouldn't have to get a gold tooth in the front of his mouth.

"Capiche?"

"Capiche? Really, Bruce Banner is capiching me?"

That might have been the wrong thing to say, because Beef Head let a punch rip right into his lower abdomen. Dean suppressed a groan as his eyes skewered shut. He wanted nothing more than to curl up into a tiny ball on the floor, but the two lackeys held him up right. The bastards.

"Okay. Okay. Capiche isn't that douchey of a word. Capiche, Bruce, capiche."

The two lackeys let go of his arms, and Dean fell into a heap in the dirt pavement. He stayed on his hands and knees for a few seconds to compose himself. He spit out more blood before looking up at the three beefcakes skip off into the moonlight. _Assholes_. Struggling to stand up, Dean made his way over to the Impala and slid in the front seat. Locking the door, he glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. Blood caked his teeth and lips. The right side of his face was red. The left side looked like it was already developing a bruise.

Lying down onto the bench seat of the front seat, Dean welcomed some sleep. A few hours later, the sun intruded into his car and woke him up. Instead of sticking around, Dean turned over the engine and drove straight to the airport to wait for his kid brother's plane to come in.

Upon arriving in the airport, Dean cleaned up in the public restroom. Instead of waiting around inside, he sat in the Impala and waited for three o'clock to roll around. When it did, Dean stood in the airport waiting for his brother to get off the plane.

Sam exited the terminal looking haggard. Dark bags resided under his eyes and his face was drawn. As soon as he spotted his big brother, a sigh escaped his lips. Dean's smile faded at that.

"You look like hell, Dean," commented Sam.

"Says the crypt keeper," Dean responded snidely. "Dude, show a little respect here. I'm your big bro."

"I tried to call Mom several times after you called," Sam changed the subject. "Straight to voicemail. You find anything at the house?"

"Besides a shitload of sulfur and the salt underneath the floorboards ripped up? Not much."

Sam ran a hand through his hair as he sighed deeply. Their mom always liked Sammy's long hair. She thought he looked handsome that way. Several time, she tried to convince Dean to let his hair grow out a little bit. He always refused and kept it trimmed short.

When Sam was six years old, their mother had let his hair grow out so that it was nearly touching his shoulders. Dean had called him Samantha for a month. The kid would pout and frown at the name. Then, one day, he just cried until his mom dropped everything and took him to get his hair cut. Dean was forbidden to ever call him Samantha again.

"Where do we go from here?" asked Sam.

"Honestly, I don't know."

"You're the hunter in the family. Shouldn't you already have a plan?"

Dean looked up at his little brother and shook his head. Sam always thought he was stupid for wanting to be a hunter. Countless amounts of times, Sam had told him he was breaking their mother's heart by going to hunts. Now, the kid expected him just to know what to do to find their mother? No pressure or anything, right?

"I dunno where to go from here, Sammy. I was in Wyoming during the attack. I was on a hunt. A witch… bitch was moving town-to-town killing all her new neighbors. Shame too, she was a hot piece of ass."

"It has to be the demon that killed Dad, right?" Sam asked and ignored his brother's comments.

"Your guess is as good as mine," replied Dean with a frown.

The brother started to walk out of the airport and towards the Impala.

"Mom always said demons leave omens behind, right? Different demons leave different residues behind. What if we dug into everything unusually that happened here in the past month and then track the omens?"

Dean let out a whistle. A grin crossed his features as he unlocked the trunk to the Impala. Sam threw his bags in.

"Looks like somebody paid attention in Mom's Sunday School of Monsters," commented Dean.

"You're the one who took notes," he snapped back.

Dean let out a chuckle and made his way to the driver's seat of the Impala. Sliding behind the wheel, he turned over the engine as Sam climbed in next to him. If they were going to omen hunt, then they could do that from a motel. There was no way that Dean could stay at his mother's house when she was missing.

"That should have been Mom's first clue that I was going to become a hunter."

"Yeah, she should have seen that one coming. You _never_ took notes in school."

"I took notes," Dean defended himself.

"Yeah, on all the hot girls and which ones would be easily bangable."

"I was very interested in my sex education," he replied with a wide grin.

At the motel, Dean and Sam shifted through all the weather reports and weird occurrences that had happened in Ainsworth in the last month. They found a huge pile of nothing. Dean threw his journal across the room after three hours of searching. Sam glanced up at him for a few seconds before turning his attention back to the computer screen. Dean stood up, his back cracking loudly.

"Where are you doing?" asked Sam.

"To get some damn air. Is that alright with you, boss?" Dean snapped back.

Sam didn't say anything, so Dean made his way outside. Leaning against the railing, Dean dug through his jacket pocket for his cigarettes. It was a nasty habit he started when he was fourteen years old. The only reason he started to smoke was because his mother hated it. He was going through puberty and was willing to do whatever he could to piss off everyone he could think of. Sadly, he got addicted.

After he let the tip, Dean grabbed his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts until he came across the name _Bobby. _Hitting send, he sighed deeply and listened to the ringing.

_"What?"_

"Morning to you too, Sunshine. How's the hunt?"

Dean wanted to get his mind off his mother. Knowing that she was out there and in danger, it was too much to bear. He needed to think about other things or else he would explode. A hunt was a perfect, temporary distraction to get him back in gear.

_"I got a call today from Ellen Harvelle. Said some kid named Dean showed up there last night. I told her I didn't know a Dean. When she gave me the description, I said I thought your name was John. So, what is it, kid? You gonna keep making up aliases?"_

Dean sighed and took a drag of his cigarette. Whatever, he'd tell trucker his real name so he could calm the hell down a bit. Maybe, he could save him from an earlier heart attack.

"My name's Dean Jonathon Winchester. You happy now?"

_"Ecstatic,"_ he replied sarcastically.

"You going to tell me about the hunt or not?"

_"Turns out you were wrong about Savannah being the witch."_

"How do you know?"

Dean's brow furrowed. He was nearly positive that she was the one they were looking for. All of the information seemed to fit. She had witch paraphernalia, and she lived in each and every town that the attacks happen in.

_"Well, you asked me why would a nice, normal girl go Cujo on all her new neighbors. That got me thinking maybe I should follow her a bit before offing her. I'm sitting outside her apartment complex when an attack happens. The guy just started bleeding. No one else was there. No one touching him - obviously, it was witchcraft at play. Then, little Savannah comes running out screaming at the air to stop hurting him. She was crying up a storm."_

"So… you think someone is following her town to town and murdering her neighbors to make her go back to Rawlins?"

_"The first attack happened in Rawlins and she left a few weeks later. I'm thinking she was running away from murderer, and the witch has been following her all over Wyoming."_

"Sounds like a psycho ex-boyfriend."

_"I agree with you there. Question is how do we find the psycho ex-boyfriend?"_

Dean threw the cigarette onto the cement and stomped it out with his boot. He looked down at the parking lot, watching a man in a suit and a scantily dressed woman walking across the pavement. He looked nervous and tried to keep his distance from her. She only moved closer.

"Gotta get her to tell you."

_"Oh yeah, like I could easily do that."_

"What? You tellin' me you're not a secret Don Juan?" Dean asked with a smirk.

_ "I think you're more her age and could have an easier time getting her to talk."_

"I got a bigger case I'm working on now. I think you got it covered, Casanova."

Bobby snorted over the phone.

_"Whatever you're hunting, I can help ya out. Just get your ass to Casper and find the damn witch."_

The line went dead. Dean snapped his phone shut and glanced back at the motel room where his brother was sitting. They were having shit luck about their mother. Maybe this Bobby guy might be able to help them. He looked at least fifty years old, probably had a good twenty plus years of experience on his side. Maybe Casper, Wyoming was the answer they were looking for. Now, the only thing he had to do was convince his kid brother it was the right move to make. That was easier said than done. Sam's as stubborn as a horse.

**Stanford University**

Jessica Moore sat at the kitchen table with her psychology textbooks sprawled out in front of her. Glancing next to her cognitive psychology book, she checked to see if there were any new messages on her cell phone. A frown worked its way onto her pale features, but she tried to push her thoughts away and concentrate on the school material at hand. She had a test at the end of the week. She needed to concentrate. Sam would call if he needed anything.

There was a knock at the front door. Thankful for the interruption of silence, she made her way to the front door. Upon opening it, she was standing vis-à-vis with a familiar, older blonde. Jessica's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Mrs. Winchester? What are doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

Wordlessly, Jessica stepped aside to let her enter the apartment. Closing the door, the younger blonde let out a laugh of disbelief. Her mind was reeling.

"Sam went to Ainsworth. Dean said your house was broken into and you were missing…?" Jessica's eyes narrowed.

"There was a break in, and Mary is missing."

Jessica could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Licking her lips, she thought about last semester when she took a class on psychological disorders. Quickly, she concluded that Mary Winchester had a psychotic break. She tried to remember if Sam said anything about mental illness in his family.

"You know, you really shouldn't let strangers in. I could be some kind of freak for all you know."

"Mrs. Winchester-"

"Oh, she's left the building."

With a smirk, Mary's fist connected with Jessica's head in one fell swoop. The twenty-year-old fell into a heap on the hardwood floor with thump. Her blonde hair was sprawled all around her in an almost angelic way.

"That's all it takes, Blondie? One hit? How pathetic."

There was a hiss from the right. Mary didn't need to look to know what was going to happen next. Black smoke seeped out of the register from the floor and found residence in Jessica's body. As soon as the black smoke had completely disappeared in her, Jessica gasped and sat up.

"Guess, I got the better end of the deal," Jessica said with a smirk.

"I don't trust you," Mary said plainly. "If you pull any of your little tricks, it won't end prettily."

"We're on the same team, Debbie Downer," she said as she stood up. "God's honest truth… or whatever."

"Listen, my daddy thought you'd be useful in this role. He dragged you out of the pit, he can put you back in."

"Guess Daddy didn't think his little girl was quite good enough for the part."

Mary grabbed Jessica's throat, eyes glossing over black. A smirk worked its way onto Jessica's lips.

"Ah, ah, ah, don't wanna ruin the meat seat. I got a date with a very tall man." She lowered her voice to a whisper. With a wink she said, "Just between us gals, I've got a thing for tall guys.

Mary's fingers unlatched from the younger girl's throat. Reaching behind, Jessica let her hair down. Fluffing the golden locks, a smirk never disappeared from her face.

"I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille."

"You know why you were picked for the part. Don't act like you're something special, because, baby, you're not. I call the shots. I tell you what to do. You don't crap without my permission." Mary leaned forward to the point that there was clearly a violation of personal space. "You're going to go to classes, go to all the club meetings, and girls' barf nights. You're going to wait around for that one little call. Don't blow your cover. You let those skanky black eyes of yours show, you're dead."

"Whatever, I know the drill, Cruella."

"Don't fuck it up," she spoke in clipped tones. "If you do, I'll make you think Alistair's handiwork was just child's play."

"Yeah, I'm sure you will."

"Baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less. Don't think I don't know how to make it hurt."

With that, the demon possessing Mary Winchester exited the apartment without looking back. Jessica merely rolled her eyes, a sneer working its way onto her face.

"What a bitch," she said to no one in particular.

The demon inspected its new body, a smirk creeping its way onto Jessica's pale features. This was going to be fun.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the latest installment. I'm sorry that it took longer to get the new chapter up. I hope it was worth it. For a fun tidbit, I pictured that if this was a real episode "Magic Arrow" by Timber Timbre would be playing in the background in the Stanford scene. In fact, I listened to it on repeat as I wrote that scene. Anyways, please leave a review. If you took the time to read, take an extra minute and write a short review. They mean the world to an author.


	4. Storm in the Distance

"_There is a storm in the distance_

_The wind breathing warning of its imminence_

_There is a lighthouse, five hundred yards down_

_You and I will be safe there__**"**_

_- "Lighthouse" by The Hush Sound_

"**Backfire"**

"**Chapter Three: Storm in the Distance"**

**Lawrence, Kansas**

**November 2, 1983**

Mary Winchester crawled on her hands and knees, the dewy grass staining her white nightgown. None of that mattered, because her four-year-old son was bleeding from the temple and her six-month-old baby was crying something awful. The putrid smell of smoke infiltrated her nostrils. It was so bad that bile rose up in her throat, but she pushed it back.

Cradling her boys in her arms, she glanced up at the burning house with tears brimming her eyes. Everything that she had ever wanted was burning hot and reduced to ashes. A normal life was no longer in the cards for her. She had lost the love of her life, her perfect home, her normal family. All she had left was her two little boys to care for and protect.

In the mist of flames, in the second story window, a man stood watching her. The silhouette was so dark that it was hard to discern any physical features. Bright, yellow eyes gleamed from silhouette. Mary felt her breath hitch in her lungs. Immediately, she knew what they were dealing with.

Ten years. The demon said it would come in ten years. As long as nobody interrupted, nobody would have to get hurt. Mary closed her eyes, her cheek resting against Dean's blonde head. John had interrupted whatever it was doing. The penalty for that was death.

"Mommy?" Dean's cracked voice rang.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"Where is Daddy?"

The four-year-old looked up at her with owlish, tear-filled, green eyes. Mary's heart broke more than she ever thought possible. There were a lot of things that Mary could say about her late husband, but the fact that he loved his children more than anything was not debatable. Dean and John were inseparable. John prided himself as a good father and would go to the edges of the earth for his children. To tell her son that his hero was gone forever was the hardest thing that she would ever do in her life.

"The angels took him, baby," she said with tears rolling down her face.

"Why?"

Dean's bottom lip quivered as tears leaked down his face. His fist gripped his mother's nightgown as he stared up at her with unwavering concentration. He looked frozen in time as he waited patiently an answer.

"Because… that's what happens when someone dies."

Mary watched her son's face closely. His eyes glanced down to his baby brother, his brow furrowing in concentration. He was trying his hardest to decipher the words that had slipped from his mother's tongue. It did not make sense in his eyes. The concept of death was not something any four-year-old should have to struggle with.

She pulled Dean close to her chest, nearly suffocating him with the embrace. More than anything, she wished she could take away the pain and confusion. She wanted to erase the cruel reality that had been laid before them. In that moment, Mary knew their lives would never be the same.

**Ainsworth, Nebraska**

**Present Day**

Dean did not know how he managed to convince Sam to drive to Casper, Wyoming. In fact, his brother barely put up a fight when he suggested they finish up the hunt that he had left off on. Dean didn't really care why Sam went along with it. He was just grateful that he had.

There was something about moving that seemed to calm Dean down. Perhaps it was the way the steering wheel felt beneath his calloused fingertips. Maybe it was the way his foot eased onto the pedal effortlessly. Possibly, it was how the asphalt felt underneath the wheels as the Impala roared down the highway. Whatever it was, it seemed to wash calmness over him like nothing else could.

Happiness came to Dean in the form of movement. Whenever he was moving, hunting, putting towns in his rearview mirror, he was happy. It seemed as though everything would fall into place whenever he was moving.

When they arrived in Casper, they went straight to the motel that Bobby Singer was staying out. Sam was hesitant to meet with this other hunter but trusted his brother's judgment in the end.

Knocking on the motel door, Dean shoved his hands into his leather jacket. Sam loomed behind him, a frown etched into his brow. Obviously, his kid brother thought they should be researching demons and trying to find their mother. Honestly, Dean thought so too. Except a whole night of research had given them jack squat. He needed to do something before he exploded.

The door was pulled open and the older hunter stood in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and his trucker hat slightly askew on his head. They had obviously interrupted the man's sleep. Well, Dean hoped it was just sleep.

"About time you got here," he snapped.

"Good to see you too," replied Dean with a sideways smirk.

"Who's the beanpole?" Bobby jutted his chin towards Sam.

Dean let out a chuckle and glanced back at his brother to give him a shit-eating grin. The kid had been a midget his whole life. He was the smallest, scrawniest kid growing up. Then, when he hit fifteen, Sammy grew like there was no tomorrow. Just after his sixteenth birthday, he surpassed his big brother in height.

"My kid brother, Sammy."

"Sam," he introduced himself as he stepped forward with his hand extended. "Sam Winchester."

"Bobby Singer. You boys ready to waste a witch?"

That night, the three hunters followed Savannah to a small pub and restaurant on the main strip in Casper. They situated themselves at a table across the room from her. She sat by herself, a martini and a notebook out in front of her. Dean excused himself and walked up to the pretty girl with a smile etched onto his face.

"Savannah, right?"

The girl looked up, her brow furrowed for a few seconds before recognition dawned on her features. She motioned him to sit down, shutting her notebook and tucking it away in her purse.

"Yeah, you're John from downstairs."

"I am. Turns out the leak was the apartment next to you. Their toilet shared a wall with my kitchen. Guess I'm not a great investigative plumber."

She ran her fingers through her long, golden locks. A soft smile graced her delicate features. Nervously, she played with stem of her glass. The green liquid sloshed from side to side.

"Hopefully it's all fixed."

"It is. Just in time too. My kid brother is in town."

"Oh, I don't want to keep you from him. Go have drinks with him instead."

"He's at the apartment. He's underage and is studying at Stanford. Said he had a lot of work to do tonight, so he told me to go off and have fun."

Dean flagged down the waitress and ordered a beer. Turning his attention back to Savannah, he noticed that she was looking around the bar as though she half expected someone to jump out at them.

"You come from a smart family."

"Nah, just him. He's the golden, smart boy of the family. I barely graduated high school."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a mechanic."

Whenever he had to investigate the hunt, he slipped into his father's persona. It was easier to pretend to be his father than it was to be himself. The lies rolled off his tongue with ease as an aching throbbed in his chest.

"Any good?"

"The best there ever was," Dean said with a smirk. "I don't mean to be forward, but I thought about you after we met."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, I was thinking I was an idiot not to get your phone number. I thought it might be too pushy to just show up at your apartment again."

Savannah casted her gaze downward with a grin plastered across her features. Dean leaned back in the booth and looked quickly over at his brother. He was talking with Bobby.

"I… just got out of a long relationship," she replied without looking at him.

"I can take things slow. You seem like a great girl, Savannah. I just want to get to know you."

"My ex is dangerous. He could hurt you."

Propping his elbows up on the table, Dean leaned forward. Reaching out a hand, he gently turned her face to look up at him. Fear shone in her eyes. Her bottom lip found its way securely between her teeth.

"I'm not scared of some psycho ex-boyfriend," he said in what he hoped was the most reassuring voice he could muster. "I can take care of myself. If he comes after you, I will end him. You shouldn't have to live your life in fear, because you realized some dude wasn't the one for you."

"You are making it increasingly difficult to fight off your advances," she said with a small smile.

Dean leaned forward until their faces were mere inches apart.

"I don't want you to fight my advances off."

"I may regret this but… do you wanna go back to my place?"

"I do know where you live," he replied with a soft chuckle.

Savannah slid out of the booth and shrugged on her jacket and grabbed her purse. She was digging through her wallet to pay her bill. Dean turned to look at his kid brother and sent him a smirk. It was go time.

Upon entering her apartment, they immediately kicked off their shoes and shrugged off their jackets. Dean kicked the front door closed as he captured her lips into a messy kiss. She gripped his t-shirt and tugged him towards the bedroom.

Dean pushed Savannah back onto the bed. A wicked smile broke out across her lips as Dean hovered above her. Leaning forward, he caught her lips into kiss and fumbled with the belt to her jeans. She moaned and her slim fingers grasped the hem of his t-shirt and tugged it upward.

Meanwhile, Sam and Bobby sat outside in the elder's car. They watched the light of Savannah's bedroom go out. Sam sighed. Of course, there would be an evil witch out there killing anyone who separated him from his ex-girlfriend _and_ their mother was missing, but Dean was busy getting his dick wet. It was classic Dean all the way. Not to mention, Dean left him with some stranger hunter who could very well kill them both. If there was one lesson their mother beat into their heads, it was that hunters were dangerous.

"Is your brother alright?"

Sam's eyes flickered to the darkened window briefly before turning towards the older man. It was a loaded question. There was a lot wrong with Dean.

"I'm sure he's doing more than alright right now. He's probably engaging in his favorite activity."

"I meant is he alright in the head? The boy seems like he's missing a few of his screws."

That was the understatement of the year. Sam had no idea why they were in Casper to begin with. They should be looking for their mom, finding leads. Instead, Dean was having sex with the bait.

"Dean goes to the beat of his own drum."

It was what their mother had always said about her eldest son. Dean didn't follow the rules or go down the expected paths. He sort of just did what he wanted to. About the only normal thing about Dean was that he was insanely involved in family matters. He loved his mother and kid brother more than he could express.

"When I first met him, he lied and said his name was John."

Sam frowned and glanced up at the window.

"John was our father. A demon did him in when we were kids."

"That how you boys got involved in hunting?"

"Kind of I guess. Our mom was a hunter when she was growing up. After our dad… she sort of just trained us but tried to give us as normal of a life as she could muster. She hated being raised a hunter."

"What's your mama's maiden name?"

Everything in Sam told him not to say anything more. Except, it felt so nice to just talk about his family to someone. His mom never wanted to talk about anything dealing with hunting or what happened to his dad. Dean… well, Dean always seemed to go off the deep end for a few weeks after talking about their dad.

"Mary Campbell."

Sam watched for a reaction but got a lackluster one at best. Maybe their mom just hated hunters because of the way she was raised. Maybe hunters could be trusted.

"I've heard of the Campbell's," he commented. "Big family. Good hunters."

"You ever meet any of them?"

"No, never. I heard Samuel Campbell was one of the best there ever was. I'm guessing he was your granddaddy?"

"Yeah, he was. My mom said a demon got him too." Sam licked his lips and glanced towards the older man. "Dean and I think a demon got our mom. She's missing. We can't find her."

"That why your brother ran out of his hunt originally?"

"Yeah, he called me to meet up with him at home. Do you know how we can find her?"

"I got a few friends who could probably help ya out."

Bobby looked over at him. They didn't continue the conversation. They sat in silence and surveyed the neighborhood for any lurkers in the dark. Occasionally, they would glance up at the pitch-black window where Dean and Savannah were.

In that room, Dean was sprawled across the bed with sweat running down his temple. Savannah was next to him breathing heavily. Closing his eyes, Dean relaxed into the satin sheets. Suddenly, there was a creak of the floorboards in the other room.

Bolting up, Dean rolled out of bed and pulled on his jeans. Zippering the fly, he searched his cell phone which was laying on the floor by his boxers. Grabbing it, he scrolled through his contacts quickly and found his brother's name.

"Who are you calling?" questioned Savannah.

"Nobody."

Dean pressed send and lowered the in-call volume until it was silent. The floorboards creaked again, this time closer. It sounded as though it was just beyond the bedroom door. Flickering on the light to the room, Dean shoved the cell into his back pocket just in time for the door to fly open.

A tall guy with long, greasy black hair stood in the doorway. Savannah shrieked, pulling the sheets to cover her chest. Dean stepped back and wished that he had his gun. Except, Bobby fucking Singer told him not to pack any heat in case it scared her off. Honestly, he didn't think much would scare the chick.

"Eric, what are you doing here? Get out!" she hissed.

"Lemme guess, you're the psycho ex-boyfriend?" questioned Dean with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

The guy raised his arm and forcefully made a fist. Dean coughed, his lungs suddenly gasping for oxygen. Dean fell to his knees, his hands making a desperate gasp for his throat. Savannah was yelling in the background, but Dean couldn't hear her over the ringing in his ears. Suddenly, the air rushed into his lungs.

"Eric, stop it! Just leave me alone! Leave him alone!"

Savannah was next to him on the floor, the satin sheets wrapped around her slim figure. Her hand was on his back, the other one clenching the sheets to her body. Dean looked up at the witch and wondered where the fuck Sam was.

"She's _mine_. You got that pretty boy?" Eric growled.

"I didn't know she was property."

Perhaps, that was the wrong thing to say, because Dean felt like he had been kicked in the family jewels. He grunted loudly and braced himself from falling over in a complete heap on the floor. Savannah was swearing now and dug her fingernails into Dean's back.

There was a creak and then a god-awful cry. Dean looked up just in time to see the witch fall to the ground with a silver knife sticking out of his back. Bobby and Sam loomed above the body. He could feel Savannah shake next to him.

"Move it," Bobby barked.

Dean stood up and grabbed his t-shirt, boxers, and socks. He threw on the shirt and socks. Stuffing his boxers into his back pocket, he followed the two hunters out of the bedroom. He shoved his feet into his boots and shrugged on his leather jacket. Turning around, he caught a glimpse of Savannah standing in the doorway to the living room. Her hair was disheveled and a look of relief seemed to wash over her features. Dean gave her a quick wave before hulling ass out of the apartment building. Bobby hollered for the boys to follow him.

Dean and Sam slid into the Impala while Bobby got into his Chevelle. Dean followed him out of town, all the way into Nebraska. He didn't question it. He just kept driving. Soon enough, they were in Dunning. Dean didn't have to ask Sam why they were there. He already knew that Bobby and Sam had talked about their mother.

They entered into the bar and Dean immediately saw Jo standing behind the bar. She looked up at him, her pale face glowing under the lights. Looking away from her, he saw Ellen walking towards them and motioned for them to step into the backroom. The door snapped shut behind them.

"Bobby called me on his way. He said your mama was possessed by a demon."

"Can you help us find her?" inquired Sam.

"The first thing we have to worry about is making sure that no hunter gets on the case," Bobby announced. "Ellen, you make it a point to find out if a hunter catches wind of a pretty blonde demon."

Dean looked up at the older hunters, bile rising in his throat. His gaze flicked to his brother who was frowning with his arms across over his chest. The gravity of the situation suddenly became all too real.

"I'll tell 'em to trap if they can and then call me," Ellen agreed. "I'll call you boys so you can perform the exorcism yourself."

"Our mother always told us not to trust hunters," added Sam. "Is it wise to make this public knowledge? I mean, what if they purposely don't contact us or they go out on a witch hunt?"

"I'm not going to sit here and tell you that it's not a possibility," Ellen said with a frown. "Most hunters though, they protect their own. If they were the one possessed, they'd want a hunter to deal with the situation delicately. If there was someone who your mama pissed off though… it could spur a witch hunt."

Their mother had the kindest soul that Dean had ever encountered. The possibility that anyone would want to hurt her in anyway was inconceivable. Except, their mother had an aversion to hunters. Something had to have happened to make her distrust so prominent. Suddenly, his grandfather flashed through his mind. What if Samuel Campbell had pissed off a hunter? Would the hunter go to great lengths to kill his only daughter?

Dean had to excuse himself from the conversation. Never before had he thought that another hunter might come across his possessed mother and murder her. The thought was too much to comprehend. He darted out of the bar and found himself near the dumpsters on the side of the building. Bile rose up Dean's throat and spewed onto the dusty ground.

Footfalls could be heard behind him, but Dean took no notice. He braced himself, hand gripping the rusty siding of the bar. He had to find his mother before someone else did. They would not care to ask questions. They would probably shoot to kill and when that didn't work, exorcise the bitch back to hell and leave his mother lifeless.

"You okay?"

A gentle hand found its way on his shoulder. Glancing to his right, he saw Jo standing there with concern painted clearly across her porcelain face. He couldn't look at her. Instead, he stared off into the dark night with a lump forming in his throat.

"I'm fine."

"Dean-"

"You have a boyfriend," he snapped harsher than he intended to. "Maybe you should go hold his hair back after puking."

Turning to look at her, he saw the hurt wash over her features. As quickly has it come, it had left. She ran her long fingers through her blonde locks and twisted her lips into a sneer.

"I don't have boyfriend…" she said in clipped tones. "Rick and I broke up last month."

"I don't think he got the memo."

Jo let out a small scoff of disbelief. Dean straightened up and wiped a hand across his mouth. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with some chick with a psycho ex-boyfriend. Hell, he didn't want to get involved with _any_ girl. All he wanted was to find his mom, save her life, and go back to hunting like he had since he graduated high school. The only baby he wanted was his Impala and the only commitment was with the job.

"Dean, you okay?" his brother's voice rang from behind them.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Uh… could you give us a minute?"

Dean glanced sideways at the girl who nodded with a tight smile gracing her features. She disappeared off into the bar, and he let out a sigh of relief. Turning around, he faced his kid brother.

"Seriously, dude, are you okay?"

"I'm _fine_," he stressed. "Would you stop being such a girl?"

Sam opened his mouth to retort but must have thought better of it. Stuffing his hands into his nice Ralph Lauren pea coat. Dean had laughed out loud when Sam had come home from college last Christmas in the coat. Jessica had bought it for him as a gift. Dean thought he looked like a douche and made that clear.

"I don't know what you thought, Dean. Mom's possessed by a demon. The first thing I thought of was what if a hunter found her before we did."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why we ran to Casper to hunt while Mom was out there possessed."

Dean forced a soft smile on his lips. Honestly, he just needed to do something. He needed to hunt and focus his attention on something other than his mother or else he would have lost it. He couldn't sit around with his thumps up his ass. If he had, he would have gone bat-shit and killed someone. Sam wouldn't be able to understand that.

"People were dyin', Sammy."

"I would think that Mom would trump strangers."

"Would you get off my back?" snapped Dean.

"No more random hunts until we find Mom, okay?"

"Sure. Fine. Whatever, Sam."

"Dean…"

"I said fine. What do you want from me? A kidney as collateral?"

Sam sighed heavily and shook his head in the negative. A lump formed in Dean's throat. Ever since his brother went away to college, there had been a rift between the two brothers. They had been inseparable growing up. They told each other everything, did everything together. As Sam grew older, he needed his big brother less and less until he went off to Stanford and they stopped being the brothers they once were.

"We should probably head to a motel and do some research," suggested Sam.

"Whatever."

"Would you just stop? I'm upset about Mom too, but I'm not taking it out on you!"

"What if it's the demon that killed Dad?"

Dean stuffed his hands in his pocket and fished around for his pack of cigarettes. Anytime he was stressed, they seemed to calm his nerves. Drinking or smoking – his two vices that his mother thought was absolutely appalling. Finding the carton empty, he crumpled it up and threw it into the dumpster behind him.

"Is that what you're worried about?"

"You don't remember him," he replied softly. "You don't remember how depressed Mom was. You don't remember how hard it was that he was just… gone."

"You're right, I don't remember him. That doesn't mean that I don't miss him every single day of my life. It doesn't mean that I don't wonder what it would have been like to have a Dad. Mom would talk about him like he was this amazing guy, an amazing dad. She'd tell me all of these stories about the two of you and how close you were. You don't think I was upset that I didn't get those moments with him like you did?"

Dean didn't say anything. He couldn't or else he knew he'd break down right then and there. So instead, he just listened to Sam and nodded his head lamely. It was all he could do.

"I may not have had a dad to teach me all the things that dads are supposed to," Sam continued. "Except, I had a big brother who stepped up and did everything dads are supposed to do. I owe you so much, man, and I would do anything for you. So, don't treat me like I don't understand what it feels like to lose a parent, because I know more than you think I do."

A single tear rolled down Dean's face. He sniffed and wiped it away quickly. His mom never had to ask him, Dean just automatically shared father/son moments with Sam without question. He couldn't bear for his kid brother not to have those moments like he had with their dad. Even the moments that he didn't get to experience with his dad, Dean made sure that Sam got to experience those moments with someone.

"I just want to find Mom."

"Me too," Sam replied with his own tears brimming.

The brothers made their way to a small motel room just outside of Dunning. It was the only motel in the whole damn city. Dean immediately collapsed on the nearest bed. Sam, however, was not in the least sleepy.

Dean was sleeping soundly within a few minutes, which was a rare occurrence. It seemed like he had been up for ever since Sam had arrived in Ainsworth. In fact, Sam would be surprised if Dean got more than just a few hours a sleep a night. Glancing down at his computer, Sam scrolled through newspaper articles looking for anything that looked like a demon's work. That's when his cell phone rang.

Immediately, he hit the volume button to turn it on silent. Glancing down at the familiar number, a smile spread across his face. He eased off the bed gently and made his way towards the door to the motel room.

"Hey, how's it going?" a sigh of relief escaped Sam's lips as he snapped the door shut

_"Sam! Good. I miss you. The apartment is really lonely without you."_

Jessica had been his home away from home. She made the transition from Ainsworth to Palo Alto smooth. The fact that his mother was absolutely enthralled with the girl didn't hinder the transition either. In fact, last summer when he was home for break, his mother kept asking him when he was going to put a ring on the girl's finger – saying he didn't want to let her slip through his fingers.

"I miss you too."

_"When are you coming home?"_

"Uh… I dunno. I want to find my mom, but I feel like there's not much I can do. Dean… I dunno, Jess. I can't leave him."

_"He's not taking it well?"_

Jess had met Dean a handful of times. Each time, they never really clicked. Dean played nice and forced a smile. Except, Sam could tell that Dean wanted nothing to do with the girl, that he didn't want her to join their tight-knit family. His mother told him not to worry. Dean would come around eventually.

"Not at all. Did I ever tell you that when Dean was a teenager, he fooled around with drugs?"

He could remember it like yesterday. Anytime their mom was out of the house working or going on her annual hunting trip, Dean would experiment up in his bedroom. He would tell Sam to leave him alone unless it was of dire need. Sam had kept his mouth shut partly because that's what brothers did for each other and partly because he didn't want Dean to hate him. His experiments only lasted about a year, but to Sam they seemed far more frequent than he cared for.

_"No, you never have."_

"My mom always said that Dean took our dad's death really hard. He always seemed to pick up a new destructive hobby on the anniversary of our dad's death. When he was thirteen, it was cigarettes. When he was fifteen, it was alcohol. When he was seventeen, it was drugs. Luckily, he's stopped the drugs, but he never just did moderation. It was always all or nothing."

_"You're afraid to leave him alone because now your mom is missing?"_

"Yeah… losing our dad was hard enough on him. If we lost our mom…"

Sam couldn't even bear to finish his thought out loud. It would completely and utterly destroy Dean. He was already a ticking time bomb ready to go off the deep end. Their mother's death would be the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Family means everything to Dean. Without my mom and me, I'm afraid of what Dean would do."

_"Sam, can I come to Ainsworth?"_

His brow furrowed at the question. Jessica always stayed her distance whenever family drama would crop up. She never asked about it, never pushed the topic. She would always wait until he let her in on the know-how.

"You don't have to do that, Jess."

_"I think I can help."_

His heart was beating fast in his chest. What she was saying was ridiculous. How in the world could she possibly help with a missing person's case?

"How?"

_"There's something I never told you about me and my family. I've been hiding a secret from you."_

Immediately, he thought about Jess being a hunter and coming from a long line of hunters. The picture in his head of his dainty blonde girlfriend yielding a shotgun full of rock salt flashed before his eyes. He nearly laughed out loud.

"What kind of secret?"

_"You can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you. Not even your brother."_

"Jessica…"

_"I'm serious, Sam. My life could be at risk."_

A frown etched itself into his brow. He racked his brain to figure out what kind of secret she could have that could help him find his mom but was drawing a complete blank.

"I promise. What's going on?"

_"My family comes from a long line of witches - not Wicked Witch of the West evil but more like Glenda the Good Witch. I can find your mom with a simple spell."_

Part of Sam wanted to laugh at the whole situation. His whole life he was taught that anything supernatural was evil and shouldn't be trusted. Since the first day of college, he had befriended and dated a witch. The irony behind the whole situation was just laughable.

"You're joking, right?"

_"Sam, this is serious. Listen, there's these people called hunters who would kill me because of what I am. They'd shoot first and ask questions later."_

"I don't know what to say right now."

She knew about hunters and Sam thought that perhaps he should be happy about that. He could tell her his family secret and get a huge weight off his shoulders. At the same time, something didn't seem right about the whole situation.

_"You don't have to say anything. I know it's a lot."_

"Come to Ainsworth. We need to talk." Sam felt a lump formulate in his throat. "There's a secret I got to tell you too."

Snapping his phone shut, Sam leaned against the railing of the motel balcony. His head was clouded with the revelation of Jessica. He didn't know whether or not to tell Dean about it. His big brother was gung-ho about hunting everything and anything supernatural. Maybe he wouldn't take into consideration that Jessica was a good person. What if he killed her on the spot? Taking a deep breath, Sam walked back into the motel room where his brother was sleeping soundly.

**Stanford University**

Jessica closed her phone with a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Turning around, she noted Mary Winchester lounging on the couch. An annoyed look was painted across her face.

"A little brash, don't you think?" she snapped.

"He hung on my every word," she replied. "Your daddy picked me for a reason, sugar. I got the goods and the know-how."

"You were a witch bitch who sold her soul to a demon. You're hardly as grand as you make yourself out to be, Ruby."

"It's Jessica Moore, you black eyed skank!" she hissed. "I'm a method actor. Gotta stay in character."

Mary merely rolled her eyes with a scoff escaping her lips.

"What? Daddy's little girl is upset that she's not the one manipulating big Sammy?" A smirk worked its way across Jessica's features. "Maybe you should have been a, how did you put it, a _witch bitch_ in a past life and you could have been in my position."

"You are, by far, the most annoying person I have ever met in my life."

Jessica licked her lips, her head cocking to the side.

"Likewise."

"Just get to Nebraska so I can get the hell out of this body. I already have the next meat suit picked out."

"Oh yeah? Who's that? A grumpy old man? It'd fit your personality nicely."

"Fuck you, Ruby."

"I thought we already discussed this. I'm Jessica Moore now. I think I'll stick with this meat suit long after the mission is completed. She has a nice body - very tall. Did I mention I like tall?"

With that, she left the living room to pack for her trip to Ainsworth, Nebraska. The plan was moving quicker than she thought. Not that she was complaining. She was getting antsy to do something. It had been a long time since she had last been out of Hell.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter. Each chapter takes weeks of thought and days of writing. Please, take a minute to write a review for all of the hard work. Thank you. :)


	5. Down by the River

"_Down by the river, by the boat _

_Where everybody goes to be alone _

_Where you won't see any rising sun _

_Down to the river, we will run"_

_- "Riverside" by Agnes Obel_

"**Backfire"**

"**Chapter Four: Down by the River"**

**Ainsworth, Nebraska**

**November 2, 1985**

Hunting is a dangerous gig. The life expectancy of a hunter is dramatically lower than that of the average person. It involves constantly putting your life on the line, constantly fighting monsters whose first instinct is to maul you to death. Therefore, when John Winchester burned up in his wife's dream house because of a demon, Mary was faced with a decision: hit the road to become a hunter once again or to stay down the straight and narrow path of an ordinary life?

Mary chose something in-between. She bought a house in Ainsworth with the insurance money from her old home. She got a nine to five job as a paralegal in a little law office to make ends meet. Most importantly, she decided to keep her hunting skills sharp and relay them to her children so they could also protect themselves.

On the anniversary of John's death, Mary took off work. She sat in the living room with a large three-fold poster board laid out in front of her. On the poster board was everything she knew about the yellow-eyed demon that claimed her father's life and her husband's life. In her lap was a notebook filled with everything she knew about demons. On the very last page was an entry about a mythological gun crafted by Samuel Colt that could kill anything.

Growing up, the tales of Samuel Colt had been her father's version of a bedtime story. The tales were so legendary that as Mary grew older she doubted that they could possibly be real. When her faith wavered, her father showed her his journals to make her believe the stories from childhood. The gun was mentioned half a dozen times on various pages. It seemed too good to be true.

Looking up from the research, Mary watched her two-year-old son piling blocks on top of one another. A look of unwavering concentration was painted clearly across his face. His bottom lip was situated securely between his baby teeth.

Outside the house, bright lights flashed. Closing the poster, Mary stood up to see a giant, yellow bus idly outside her home. Dean walked through the bus's gliding door, his Thundercats backpack shrugged around his shoulders. His head was down, his blonde fringe covering his eyes.

Mary opened the front door, which immediately peeked Sammy's interest. The blocks were long forgotten as his favorite person arrived home. The toddler pushed passed his mother and ran as fast as his little legs would carry him. A wide, toothy smile spread across his lips as he squealed, "Deeeean!" His little arms wrapped around his brother's waist. Dean enveloped the kid into a hug.

A soft chuckle escaped Mary's lips as she propped her side against the doorframe. She watched Dean pull away from the hug and grip his brother's sticky hand into his own. They walked slowly towards the house, Sammy talking a mile a minute. Dean merely listened, his head nodding and interjecting a word here and there.

"How was school?" questioned Mary as they made their way up the couple porch steps.

"Boring," he replied as Sammy leaned into his side.

"I builded a fort! Deeean," the toddler tugged on his big brother's jacket.

"Come on, boys, get inside the house. Sammy doesn't have a coat on."

Dean ushered his kid brother into the house and their mother snapped the door shut behind them. Pushing the deadbolt into place, she turned towards her children to see them looking at the fort made out of blocks. Dean told Sammy that he did a great job as he shrugged off his backpack and jacket.

Mary told her children to play as she fixed dinner. It wasn't long before Dean came ambling into the kitchen and struggled slightly to sit on the barstool. His arms were crossed on top of the counter and chin rested on his arms.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought about Daddy all day," he admitted in a tiny voice. "He died today."

A tightening occurred within Mary's chest as she watched the sad child in front of her. The second of November was forever branded within Dean's mind as the worst day of his life. Mary did not know what to say to make it all better.

"He did. I miss him too, Sweetie."

"Did someone start the fire?"

"_What?_"

Mary's heart beat fast in her chest. Why in the world would her oldest ask her that question? A lump formed in her throat as she tried to figure out how to answer the question in a way a six year old would comprehend.

"In school we learned 'bout how people set fires. They aren't all accidents."

Taking a few steps forward, Mary sank down on a barstool next to her son. She surveyed him, wondering if six was too young to tell him the truth. More than anything, she wished her mother was still alive to give her advice. She tried to recall when she was told the truth, how her parents had told her. There was only a giant blank. Hunting and monsters were all she had ever known. There was nothing else. In that moment, Mary knew she was going to take away Dean's innocence.

"There are some not so nice things in the world, Dean…"

**Ainsworth, Nebraska**

**Present Day**

Sam leaned back into the leather seat of the Impala as he drove down Route 7. He didn't really know how he managed to convince his brother to lend him the Impala for the day. He made up some bullshit story saying that he wanted to go to their mom's house and look for clues. Knowing Dean would not want to go back there, it gave him the perfect opportunity to pick up Jessica from the airport and have a long overdue conversation.

The prospect of the conversation only made his anxiety levels rise. He had no idea what to fully expect. He knew she was a witch, but there had to be more to the story than just that. Sam didn't exactly know how one would go about gaining supernatural witch powers, but he doubted it was all rainbows and puppies.

When she walked through the gates, her blonde hair cascading down in her usual curls, Sam couldn't help but smile. So what if she was a witch? She was the love of his life. He knew it from the moment he met her move-in weekend of freshman year. He had helped her carry up boxes to her dorm room. It had never occurred to him until that moment that no family had ever helped her move in. She had been alone and was tight-lipped around her family.

They closed the distance between them. Jessica dropped her bag and threw her arms around Sam, her face burying into the crook of his neck. He held her close to his body, his lips gingerly touching her temple. Pulling away, he grabbed her bag and led her to the Impala.

"So you're… a witch?" asked Sam as soon as they situated into the front seat of the car.

"I don't blame you for not believing me. It's a lot to take in. Honestly, I couldn't blame you if you were mad that I didn't tell you sooner."

Sam signed as he fiddled with the keys. A sigh escaped his lips as he contemplated how to tell her that he came from a long line of hunters without scaring her. Telling her the truth would be liberating. He had always wanted to spill the beans about how his father died, about what his brother really did, about how monsters were real. It was a secret that ate away at him more than he was willing to admit.

"I can't be mad at you," confessed Sam. "I've been keeping an equally weird secret from you."

"Don't tell me you're a witch too."

"No, a hunter."

He looked up at her to see a frown etched into her brow and her eyes wide. She looked like a trapped animal, not sure where to go. Sam forced a reassuring smile onto his lips.

"My mom came from a family of hunters. She gave up the life when she met my dad. Except, a demon killed my dad. She trained Dean and me. Nothing crazy, but she wanted us to be able to protect ourselves if something came for us. I was satisfied with that. Dean… he hunts regularly now. Our mom was taken by a demon. I came here to hunt with him, to find her."

Jessica's bottom lip found its way between her teeth as she stared at her boyfriend long and hard. After assessing he was no danger to her, she eased into her seat. Her azure eyes glanced out the front window.

"There's this lore that says witches are born when they sell their soul to a demon. My great-grandmother had a diary where she claimed she sold her soul for power. Every first-born female on my mother's side has had power too. My mother thinks that my great-grandmother damned us all. That we're all going to hell after death for our so-called gift."

"You know all about demons then."

She glanced at him, a small chuckle escaped her lips. She glanced out of the front window. A family with two little girls passed the car.

"More than I care to." She glanced back at him. "Sam, I just wanted a normal life. I don't practice witchcraft. I don't want the _gift_. It's more of a nuisance than anything."

"I don't want to ask you to do something you're not comfortable doing."

"If I was ever to do witchcraft again, I'd want to do it for something like this. I can't guarantee I'll get it right the first time. I'm out of practice, but I'll keep trying until I get it right."

His mind wandered to Dean who had just finished hunting a witch. The last thing he would want to do is work with a witch. In fact, Dean had the mentality that everything was black and white. There was no shade of grey that Jessica could be put in. Part of him wondered if his big brother would be open to the idea of Jessica being a witch and casting a spell to find their mother's whereabouts.

Sam turned over the engine to the Impala. He pulled out of the airport and hit the highway. He started back to Dunning with his mind running a million miles a minute. This was their best chance at finding their mother. Without Jessica, they had no leads and nowhere to go. Sam knew that they would never find their mother or the demon possessing her unless the demon wanted to be found. That thought was scarier than he could admit.

**Dunning, Nebraska**

Dean leaned over the small table in the motel room. His journal lay out in front of him. In the very back was a whole section solely on demons. At the top of the second page, was a drawing of two yellow eyes. His mother had told him all about the yellow-eyed demon who had claimed more than just one life in their family.

There was a knock at the door, and Dean furrowed his brow. Sam wouldn't knock. Bobby said he was heading back to Sioux Falls to dig through some old books and find out if any contacts found a pretty blonde woman possessed by a demon. Therefore, he thought of all the people who knew he was staying in Dunning. The list was limited, so he imagined it would be Ellen. The person had the door was the last person he wanted to talk to.

Jo Harvelle stood on the other side of the door with her arms crossed over her chest and a small smirk playing on her lips. A groaned worked its way up in Dean's throat. He didn't really have time to play whatever game Jo wanted to play. In any other circumstance, he probably would have played just to win the prize. Except, he didn't really want the prize at the moment. There was too much other shit going on to worry about.

"How'd you know I was here?"

"Well, there's one motel in all of Dunning. I took a chance that maybe you would be here." She lowered her voice and continued, "Plus, I'm a hunter. I know how to investigate."

"You're more like Nancy Drew."

She scowled but bit back her response. Instead, she asked to enter the motel. Dean stepped to the side and allowed her entrance. She glanced around the room, her eyes lingering on the journal on the table.

"I'm sorry that Rick was an asshat to you," she commented as she turned her attention to him. "He likes to think I'm his property or something. Must be the reason we broke up."

"Look, Nancy, you seem like a really nice gal, but I'm not boyfriend material. I was never interested in you like that."

"Don't flatter yourself, Joe Hardy, because I think you're repulsive."

A chuckle escaped Dean's lips as he leaned against the nearest wall. She wasn't so bad in an annoying, little sister type of way. Growing up, Dean never cared much for friends. They were just people who would backstab or disappoint you the first chance that they got. The only ones you could trust were family. They would never let you down. He could, however, see himself being friends with Jo… maybe.

"Is that all you came here for?"

"No, I wanted to let you know that if you need backup with the demon who took your mom, I'd be more than happy to come on the hunt."

"Thanks, but no thanks," replied Dean as he cleared his throat. "I think your mother would kill me."

She quirked an eyebrow elegantly up. A smile danced on her face as her eyes sparkled in mirth. Dean smiled sheepishly.

"Are you scared of my mom?"

"Terrified actually," he responded seriously. "She's a bar owning, gun-carrying woman."

Jo laughed, her eyes rolling. Dean bit his bottom lip, trying to contain his own smirk. He couldn't help but think how nice it was to talk about hunting with someone else other than his mom. Mary Winchester belittled hunting whenever she got the chance, and Sammy would rather talk about college and academia than hunting. It felt nice to know another hunter.

"You must scare easily then."

"Oh, everything scares me. I don't know how I'm a hunter, because I nearly wet myself every time," he tried to say with a straight face. "It's a hard job, but somebody's gotta do it."

Jo merely smirked. Her eyes trailed from Dean's face to the table where all of the information he had on demons resided. He stiffened and made his way to the mass of papers. He scrambled them together, shoving them in folders to hide the information from view. He didn't want Jo involved. She was young and inexperienced. Plus, her mother was damn right terrifying. He didn't want to get entangled within the Harvelle family.

"I think it's best if you probably go," commented Dean.

"Yeah, I was just…" she trailed off and glanced up at the man. "I just wanted to offer my support if you needed it."

"Look, my brother and I got this. If we need backup, we got Bobby."

She nodded. Making her way to the door, her finger curled around the knob. She faltered. Suddenly she whipped around, her blonde ponytail bouncing.

"I know what it's like to lose your dad," she started. "I know what it's like to have a mom who is petrified of her kid hunting. If my mom was out there possessed by a demon, I would take help from whomever I could."

"You seem like a great kid, Jo, but you're inexperienced. I don't want to have to worry about your ass while hunting. I got bigger things to worry about."

"Whatever, Dean. Good luck."

With that, Jo was gone. Dean sank into the chair at the table to bury himself in research again. If he couldn't hunt, he needed to do something. Research was about the only thing he could do without Sam jumping on his ass.

The sun had set when Sam returned back to the motel room. Except, he wasn't alone. Dean bit back bitter comments when he saw Jessica Moore entering the room behind his kid brother. She was a nice gal. In fact, his mother had taken a special liking to the girl. Dean knew he had to play nice with Jessica or else face losing Sammy in the process. Except, Sam had lectured Dean about coping with their mother's disappearance by hunting. Yet, he was bringing in his sunshine girlfriend into the equation. What were they supposed to tell her about the disappearance? They had not gone to the police or followed any missing person protocol. She'd think they were insane.

"What is she doing here?" Dean asked Sam.

"Listen, Dean, I wouldn't have her here if she couldn't help."

"She's going to help?"

Dean turned towards Jessica and gave her an apologetic smile for what he was about to say.

"Help? Blondie is going to help? How? She going to put up missing posters?" snapped Dean.

"She's a witch, Dean! She knows all about hunters and demons! She can help us here!"

Narrowing his eyes, he glanced over at Jessica. In the several times he had interacted with her, he never would have pegged that she had a deep, dark secret that involved witchcraft and knowing about the hunting world. It didn't make any sense.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were Samantha Stephens in disguise," he bit sarcastically.

"Would you stop being an ass?" commented Sam.

"Not only has she lied to you for the past year and a half, she's a freakin' witch! She's the type of thing we hunt!"

"I lied to her too for the past year and a half!" he retorted. "She's not evil! Not everything is black and white!"

Dean sighed, his arms crossing over his chest. The last thing he wanted to deal with was this whole situation. He counted to five and tried to calm down. Never in his life had he heard of a good witch. They only existed in fairytales. In real life, witches were consumed with power and wrecked havoc – especially when they didn't get their way.

"I can cast a spell and figure out where your mother is," commented Jessica. "I need a map and something of hers. I can pinpoint where she is. I haven't done that spell before, so it might take me a few tries, but I can do it."

"Well, isn't that just a nifty trick?" Dean said with sarcasm lacing his words.

"This may be our only chance to find Mom alive! We're racing against time to find her before the demon does her in or another hunter shoots first and asks questions later," explained Sam.

"I don't feel comfortable using witchcraft to find her! How do you know she's not working for the demon?"

Sam let out a scoff, his eyes rolling. Dean stood his ground. How did they know Jessica was on their side? He read once in their mother's journal that witches gained their power through making deals with demons. If Jessica was a witch, then she had to of have contact with a demon in the past and possibly now. She was damned because of what she was. Dean wasn't going to allow her take his family down with her.

"No, Sam, it's okay," Jessica interrupted. "My great-grandmother… she made a deal with a demon to be a witch. At least, that's what we think. Except, she didn't just make the deal for herself, she made it for all of the first-born women in her line. I've never met a demon before. I only know about them."

Dean ran a hand down his face. He didn't know what to do. Using Jessica's power would be the quickest way to find their mother. He just hoped that it wasn't some sort of trap. If he was, he wouldn't hesitate to kill the bitch. Glancing from his kid brother to Jessica, his mind reeled with the possibilities. More than ever before, he wished their mom could tell them what to do.

"Dean, we need to find Mom fast before it's too late. If you got any better ideas, I'm all ears, Man. Right now, though, Jessica is our best bet to finding Mom."

"I want to find Mom too."

"I'm going to give you guys some time alone," Jessica announced. "I just want you to know, Dean, that I just want to help. That's all. Your mother has been incredibly nice to me. I don't want anything to happen to her. That's why I'm here."

Sam leaned down and kissed her temple gently.. He gave her a reassuring smile. Reaching down, she grabbed her saddlebag situated on her suitcase. Slinging it over her shoulder, she waved goodbye briefly before exiting.

Jessica slipped out of the motel room and took a walk to pass the time. It didn't take long until she was down by the river. There was a lone man sitting by the water, his jeans rolled up and feet resting within the cool water. With a smirk, Jessica walked towards him.

"What are you doing out here this late at night alone?" she asked.

The man whipped around. He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties. He had brown hair that was combed over. A button-down shirt clad his chest. He looked like a bible thumper. He was _perfect_. She smiled sweetly, her blonde hair cascading over her right shoulder. The moonlight hit her just right, marking her a vision. The man stood up, a quirk of a smile tugging on his own lips.

"I-I come here to think," he commented. "I don't think I've ever seen you around here."

"I'm not from around here."

"Where are you from?"

"California," she replied with a smirk and took a step forward beneath a shadow of a tree.

"Nebraska is a long ways from home."

"I don't mind."

Running a hand behind her, she pulled out a sheath covering a knife that was situated between the band of her jeans and the small of her back. The young man didn't notice as he was staring at her face like a lost puppy dog that found a new owner who would feed him scraps. Taking a step forward, the sheath fell to the ground silently.

"You know, I'm usually a really nice girl," she said in a soft voice. "I bet you're a really nice guy too. You got those dewy, Bambi eyes."

In one swift movement, the knife sliced across the man's throat. He choked on his own blood, his hands flying up to the wound. His eyes glossed over nearly immediately, pleading pathetically for the blonde to help him. Instead of helping, she unzipped her bag and pulled out a bowl with engravings covering the outside. The man fell to the ground with a loud _thump!_ Jessica knelt beside him and allowed the blood to pour in the bowl.

In smooth Latin, Jessica spoke in silky tones. The blood bubbled and darkened. The Latin stopped flowing as a sigh escaped her ruby lips.

"I'm in. When do you want me to lead them straight to your baby girl?"

Jessica's eyes clouded over black as the corners of her mouth quirked up. Nothing had ever been so easy. She had Sammy Winchester wrapped around her little finger. That effectively meant that she also had Dean Winchester, because he was wrapped so tightly around his kid brother's finger that he would go along with anything he said.

Author's Notes –I have enjoyed writing this story so much that I have contemplated whether or not to make it into a series of stories. This would include writing stories that follow the events of _Backfire _as well as writing stories from when the boys were younger. Therefore, I need your feedback. Would you like to read more in this AU verse or would you rather I just finished the story the way I had planned? So, please, leave a review, because the amount of positive reviews I get will be the deciding factor on whether or not I continue in this verse.


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